


No Such Thing as a Bad Idea

by LadyLoec



Category: The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alive Alaric Saltzman, Anal Sex, Biting, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Frenemies, Frenemies with Benefits, Friends With Benefits, Gay Sex, Human/Vampire Relationship, M/M, My first M/M, Non-Canon Relationship, Sexual Experimentation, Switching, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-30
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2021-01-13 11:47:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21243581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLoec/pseuds/LadyLoec
Summary: A conversation he's way too drunk for has Alaric suddenly finding the 'straight' label he's worn his whole life feeling a little constricting. The ensuing very sensual kiss leads to something more, as the snarky vampire we all know and love has him questioning everything he ever knew about what pushed his buttons.





	1. Through the Looking (Bourbon) Glass

**Author's Note:**

> Just a fun little oneshot that jumped into my head. Regularly scheduled Bamon programming will recommence shortly now I've got this out of my system!!

"I'm just saying," Damon drawled. "Objectively, vampires are the superior species."  
Alaric rubbed his face wearily. They had been arguing for what felt like hours about everything and nothing, and they had moved in to a more secluded booth when Matt had pointed out that they might want to discuss all things supernatural somewhere a little less open than the bar.  
"How can you possibly think you have an objective opinion on this? Even you're not that deluded, surely."  
"Would've thought that was obvious, buddy." He leaned back against the plush leather of the booth and kicked his feet up on the table, taking another generous swig of scotch. "I've been both, therefore I have insight that you lack."  
The coherency and eloquence of both their arguments had been on a noticeable downhill slope since Matt had brought over their 3rd bottle of scotch (or was it their 4th? He was glad he wasn't trying to match Damon drink for drink or he would have been long dead - he doubted the Gilbert ring would protect him from death by booze, even if it was a vampire inciting it).  
"Oh bullSHIT, the last time you lived a day as a human, indoor plumbing wasn't even a thing. Your insight is hardly 20/20."  
"Au contraire, mon petit chou-fleur. Vampires have strength, stamina, speed, longevity. Find me a downside."  
"Sunburn."  
"Avoidable."  
"Bloodlust."  
"Controllable."  
"Did you call me your little cauliflower just now?."  
"Irrelevant."  
"I'm too drunk for this. My head hurts."  
"Stop trying to change the subject. Admit it, vampires have the edge in every conceivable way."  
Alaric slapped the table triumphantly. "Got it. Vampires can't procreate."  
Damon gave his best sleazy smile reclining back with his feet on the table.  
"But we love to try."  
Ric laughed. "Ain't that the truth. I'm curious, do you have any essential criteria other than 'female' and 'conscious'?"  
"Who said they have to be 'female'?"

Damon gave a suggestive wink as Ric sputtered on his drink.  
"You're not serious!?"  
"As a heart attack."  
"But... Elena, Katherine, Caroline..."  
"Derek, Jason, Andrew..."  
"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit."  
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much." Damon nudged Ric's arm with his shoe. "Come on now Ric, you went to college, you must've experimented. Granted it was a very, very, very long time ago."  
"You're about 140 years older than me."  
"Yeah but I don't look it."  
"Eat me."  
"That an invitation?"  
"Damon, that's disgusting."  
"Is it?"   
"There's about two fingers of scotch between me and unconsciousness and I'm still not drunk enough for this conversation."  
"Play your cards right and you could have two fingers between-"  
"Damon, if you finish that sentence, I swear to God they'll be picking pieces of you out of the grill upholstery for a week."  
"Ooh, no nonsense teacher voice. You ever use that in the bedroom?"  
"DAMON!"  
"Fine! Pro tip though: When the dude who remembers prohibition thinks your attitude is coming off as archaic, either be scared or be more subtle about trying to keep the closet door shut."  
"I'M NOT..." _Indoor voice, Ric_ "I'm not a raging homophobe or anything, I'm just..."  
"Straight as an arrow?"  
"Exactly."  
"So tell me Ric." Damon took his feet off the chair and leaned in conspiratorially. "When I asked earlier if you were inviting me to eat you, was it the deviant vampire or the prudish history teacher whose mind went to the gutter? Because you were the one who instantly assumed I wasn't talking about your _blood_."

Alaric's face flushed scarlet. In truth, his mind hadn't left the gutter since 'who said they have to be female?'. He felt like he should have been grossed out, but he wasn't (though he had tried - and apparently failed - to feign that he was). Instead his brain had exploded with a million different questions. Some could be chalked up to pure academic curiosity, sure (historically speaking, a non-straight guy from the 1800s was fascinating). Some... couldn't. Damon was a pretty masculine guy - Ric couldn't see him... er... 'receiving'. Until his mind helpfully supplied the visual, that is, and goddamn he hated his overactive imagination sometimes because the image was way, WAY too detailed and far hotter than it had any right to be. And yeah, he'd obviously noted that Damon was attractive long before, but he figured that was because it was impossible _not _to notice that – like acknowledging the beauty of a piece of art or something.

He had obviously been silent for too long, as Damon continued speaking.  
"I'll make you a bet. If you win, I drop the whole topic."  
"And if you win, what do you get?"  
"That warm fuzzy feeling that comes from being right and saying 'I told you so'."  
_Well, that's not suspicious_. "Fine, I'll bite. What's the wager?"  
Damon's face broke into his trademark smirk that normally meant 'you're screwed'.   
"Maybe my gaydar needs a tune up, but I think you're at the very least a little bi-curious, though you'd barely confess it under torture." Alaric went to interrupt but Damon shushed him. "Quiet now, the grown ups are talking. I want you to let me kiss you. You can put caveats on it if you want, but at least 10 seconds, and you'd be an idiot to ban tongue because mine is _sinful_. If you're tripping over rednecks for holy water mouthwash afterwards, then I guess I was wrong. I drop the subject and we forget it ever happened. If I'm right-"  
"You're not." Alaric cut him off. "And are you completely insane? I'm not kissing you."   
"Fine. I guess I'll just have to keep finding new and inventive ways to make you ponder your sexuality. Might even leave some tasteful research material in your room for Elena to find when she does the chores. Wonder if she'll believe you if you say you got them for the articles?"  
He shot Damon the most menacing glare he could muster. "You wouldn't."  
"Try me. Elena does laundry Tuesday and Thursday mornings, right?"  
"You're unbelievable."  
He drained his glass, leaving his top lip visibly wet. "You have no idea."  
Alaric subconsciously licking his own lips was met with a smirk from Damon and he mentally berated himself for the slip. 

Damon was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something, Alaric knew that better than almost anyone. And he could easily make good on his threat. Much as he wanted to draw a hard 'I don't negotiate with terrorists' line, Damon made it impossible to refuse.  
"One kiss and you promise you'll cut this shit out?"  
"Unless you beg for more." He said it like it was a sure thing.   
Ric cast a glance around. Their booth offered them a measure of seclusion, enhanced by the fact that in the last few hours of opening, the bar's lights were dimmed to signal the shift from dining to dancing. Ric was half hoping to use the public venue as a reason to get out of this, but that would be nigh impossible to spin in the circumstances.   
"You said I could have caveats?" A nod. He let out a defeated sigh. "Keep the hands pre-watershed. No fangs… Do you absolutely have to use tongue?" Ric wasn't sure quite how Damon managed to convey 'only if you want to be mewling in my lap like a kitten' with nothing more than a look, but he did and _is it just me or did it just get really hot in here?_  
"...Okay."

Damon's smile managed to convey all the menace and triumph of a spider catching a fly in its web, and as he scooted over closer, swinging his legs back down, Ric ruefully wished he had just settled for a quiet night in with Netflix and beer. Damon put his arm around his shoulder just as their legs touched and he did his best not to flinch as he braced for their lips to make contact. He was surprised when they didn't right away: Damon instead had leaned in so there was no more than an inch between their faces, and he could feel the other man's breath on his skin. Hell, he could taste the bourbon in it. His nose was flooded with a scent that he would bet his right arm was unique to Damon: Leather, spice, some kind of musky cologne, and something vaguely metallic and masculine that wasn't unpleasant at all. Damon's eyes (_were his lashes always that long?_) - those ethereal bolts of piercing blue - roved down his face to his lips, and he could actually _feel_ the weight of that gaze as he dragged it with treacle-like languidness back up, before finally locking with his own. Unable to stomach the intensity, Alaric closed his eyes.  
_If I can't see him, it'll be just like kissing a woman. A well muscled woman. With stubble. And a really firm jaw. Who smells like one of the guys in a Calvin Klein underwear ad, or how I imagine those guys smell anyway. A kind of scary woman who could probably crush my larynx with her pinkie finger..._  
His brain's rambling short circuited and Alaric was pretty sure his heart was thundering like a freight train when he felt the air shift as Damon closed the gap between them.

Instead of crashing together like he had braced himself for, Damon's lips barely brushed his in a touch so featherlight he wondered if he had imagined it. The second time was a little more tangible, but just barely - enough that Ric felt the texture of them, and just a little resistance as Damon's scotch-damp lips caught on his dry ones. The third, Alaric cursed himself internally (and Damon, for being a fucking _tease_) as he heard his breath hitch, which Damon seemed to take as his cue, finally pressing his mouth against Ric's.

Alaric was wrong. Eyes open or closed, this was _nothing_ like kissing a woman. Not any woman he'd ever kissed before, anyway. Damon's kiss was insistent and possessive; there was arrogance and ownership in it, especially when he felt Damon's hand slide to the back of his neck, strong fingers pressing into his pulse points and effectively holding him in place. It was different: _Different_, not bad, which had definitely thrown him. Alaric had been expecting this to be barely tolerable at best, vomit-inducing at worst. But it was... Kinda nice? Just when he was starting to relax into the press of another man's lips, he felt Damon pull back slightly.  
_No way was that 10 seconds. I wasn't resisting. I was even kind of getting into it. Maybe HE isn't into it. Was it me? No way am I that b-_

Maintaining the barest contact between their top lips, the tip of Damon's tongue ran lightly over Alaric's lower lip and his train of thought derailed. He heard a groan that didn't sound like Damon and took a split second to register as his own, before what Caroline Forbes would probably call 'lizard-brain instinct' took over and his tongue was exploring Damon's mouth. He tasted like bourbon and salt and something sweet and just _yes_. He wondered if he ran his tongue along Damon's gums, if he could feel his fangs? Alarmingly, he sort of wanted to find out. Just when he thought things couldn't possibly get any weirder, Damon put his other hand on his waist and sucked his tongue and his brain fucking _melted_ as the sensation hit his groin like an avalanche. He felt his cock twitch against the constraining fabric of his jeans, and _fuck, no_ he was not getting hard just from a kiss, especially one from a guy, and double especially one from Damon. 

He pulled his tongue back sharply into his own mouth while he tried to get his scrambled brain to reboot, but knew he was totally screwed when Damon chased him back, his tongue running the length of Ric's own. That hotline to his pants lit up like Christmas again as he immediately imagined that sensation replicated elsewhere, and he fought the urge to sit on his hands to stop them roaming paces they shouldn't, and _were these pants always this tight? _Damon's mouth pressed a little harder against his, and he felt their cheeks brush, resisting the desire to lean in to Damon's cool skin against his flushed face (was it a vampire thing or did he use some pretentious and horrifyingly expensive skin product to make his skin so soft? Probably both). Nails lightly scratched at the back of his neck, a roughness in contrast of the smooth motion of Damon's mouth that felt way too good, and he felt a little light headed (he might have forgotten to breathe a little). As the pressure softened and Damon's tongue eased back into his own mouth, he realised Damon was actually pulling away this time. Their lips disconnected, but not before Damon had caught Ric's lower lip between his (blunt, human) teeth, dragging them over the sensitive and kiss-swollen flesh with a pleased 'hmm' that Ric could feel tingle his lip as he pulled away.

Ric felt wrecked. Like he'd been hit by a truck and somehow come away wanting to thank the truck. That was the filthiest kiss he'd ever had. When he had kissed Isobel or Jenna, it had been romantic: A candlelit three course meal followed by making love on a feather bed kind of romantic. By contrast, Damon's kiss was the kind of fast food burger where you could taste the calories followed by a quick and dirty fuck in an alley. He was _blushing_ for Christ's sake, and was pretty sure his face would be far redder if a good amount of his blood supply wasn't pitching a tent in his jeans right now. With his blood fighting a civil war over whether it was needed more in his cheeks or his dick, Ric was immensely thankful enough remained in his brain that he managed not to lean back in for more. When he opened his eyes, Damon's were also just fluttering open. 

Turns out Damon's punch-bait smirk was way less infuriating when framed by kiss-swollen lips.  
"So what's the verdict?"  
Alaric's brain was clearly still on standby. "Huh?"   
"Our wager. Is there still a picture of Alaric Saltzman next to the dictionary definition of heterosexuality?"   
Damon already knew the answer, he just wanted to make Ric say it out loud. _Asshole_. He might not outright lie and say it was terrible, but he'd be damned if he would give him the satisfaction of saying how it really was.   
"It... Wasn't as awful as I expected."  
An indignant laugh from Damon. "You're blushing like a fire hydrant, panting like a bitch in heat, and sporting a semi." Alaric reflexively went to cross his legs to hide his groin from view, but Damon's hand shot out to grip his thigh, the bruising grasp effectively holding his legs open, and curse his traitorous body but that just seemed to make him harder. Damon leaned in a little closer and for a second Alaric thought (hoped?) he was going to kiss him again, but he stopped short, licking his lips inches from his own. "All because of a little lip action with PG-13 hands? So, tell me again how 'not awful' it was."  
He knew this was Damon giving him a chance to not only fess up, but to keep the conversation open: And all the unspoken options that came with that openness. He knew Damon's world hadn't spun violently on it's axis because of their kiss the way his had, but he was pretty sure from the way Damon was acting that he wanted more than just the right to say 'I told you so'. All things considered, he should just own up that maybe the 'straight' label he had been clinging on to for dear life was feeling a little constricting right now.  
"Maybe that's just how I react when you shut up for ten seconds."

He regretted it the second it came out of his mouth. God, he was a stubborn self-sabotaging asshole at times. Damon, for his part, looked like he believed him about as far as... Well, not as far as he could throw him, because a vampire could throw a human pretty damn far, but suffice it to say he looked sceptical. A couple of heartbeats later, he eased back and retracted his hand from where it rested on Alaric's thigh. He released a breath he hadn't noticed he'd been holding, realising he had definitely been hoping Damon would kiss him again. When Damon stood up to leave, Ric spoke without thinking.  
"Where are you going?"  
"There's 15 minutes til closing. Thought I might pick up the tattered shreds of my dignity and find someone to take home for the night."  
"Male or female?" He blurted, instantly regretting the question. _Please don't say a guy._  
"Does it matter?"  
_Yes_. "I guess not." When Damon made to leave, he grabbed his arm and pulled him back (given vampire strength, it might be more accurate to say Damon let him). "Wait." Damon looked at him expectantly. Truth be told, he had no idea what he was going to say, he just wanted him to sit back down. He decided maybe it was time to cut the bullshit. "Ask me again." He might have to grit out the answer, but he'd be damned if he was watching Damon take some <strike>other</strike> guy home because he couldn't admit he was wrong.  
Damon gave him a long, curious look - the kind where he looked like he was considering whether to fuck or kill someone as idly and with as much boredom as someone else might debate which kind of milk to get at the grocery store. It was this kind of look that usually made Alaric question if his drinking buddy was bag-of-cats crazy.  
Eventually, he said "I have a better question." He leaned in over the table, his eyes roving down over Ric's face to his lips and back up again. "Wanna get out of here?"  
_No_. His curious brain was itching to find out how deep the rabbit hole goes, but his rational (coward) brain was adamant. _I want to stay here in the bar. Right here. In this booth. Where everything is safe and controlled and I can take my time coming to terms with this whole new thing where I kind of still think of myself as straight but also kind of want to bend him over the hood of his car._  
It was painfully obvious when his cock twitched at the tone in Damon's voice exactly which brain was doing Alaric's thinking, though.  
"Yeah."


	2. A Night of Firsts

By unspoken agreement, they headed to his apartment - not the boarding house, and sure as hell not the Gilbert house where he was laying his head these days. Neither of them said anything - not that it was a long walk, Ric’s place was just across the square - except when Damon said he was taking a detour via the corner store for some bourbon (_"because asking me to drink the paint stripper you call bourbon violates the Geneva convention"_) and would see him there. Alaric was pretty sure Damon just wanted a break from the deafening thud of his heartbeat, which had been a dull roar in his ears and refused to quiet down ever since he stood up to leave the grill. He paused at the door, half wondering if he should straighten the place up a bit (he huffed a laugh inwardly at the turn of phrase). If he was bringing a woman home, he would have wanted to at least clear the empty liquor bottles off the coffee table and make the bed, but this was Damon - he'd seen the place worse than this. Hell, some of the empties were probably his. He sighed and let his head fall against the door with a thud, suddenly stone cold sober and wondering what on earth he thought he was doing. The hallway was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, so he flinched a little in surprise when he felt a cool, hard body pressed up behind him, hands snaking around his torso (one high, one low).

"What the fuck are we doing?" Ric breathed out.

That low hand headed lower, pausing when one teasing knuckle dipped under his waistband. Damon was the shorter of the two by a few inches, so he had to lean upwards to whisper in Ric's ear.

"If you let me in I can draw you a diagram." He sucked a patch of skin just under Ric's ear that almost made his knees give out. "Or I can blow you here in the hallway. Your choice."

He managed to gather enough cognitive ability to get the key into the lock and all but fell through the door. Damon had him pressed up against it from the other side in a fraction of a second, kissing him in a way that made the kiss from the bar look painfully innocent. His hands also seemed to have this supernatural quality that allowed them to be _everywhere_ at once. In his hair, on his neck, up the back of his t-shirt, cupping his ass through his jeans. Meanwhile Ric's brain was barely even still connected to his spinal cord (because evidently Damon had been right about his tongue being sinful), and he had no fucking idea what to do with his own hands, so they just kind of hung there until Damon grabbed them and forcibly planted them on his ass, squeezing Ric's hands over himself to make sure he got the hint before they continued their own unhindered roaming.

It seemed that was enough to help his desire override his brain, and he gave his own hands permission to wander, tasting Damon's triumphant smile as his hands explored the unfamiliar terrain of his body, at first over his clothes, but eventually brave enough to venture under his shirt. While it was a far cry from the familiar soft curves and yielding flesh of a woman, his hands were relentless in drinking in the broad expanse of cool, toned muscle. Occasionally, Damon's hands would find his again, pressing his fingertips in harder or encouraging rougher handling, as if to say ‘I won't break’ (_and fuck if that wasn't the hottest thing ever_). When Damon broke off their kiss to trail smaller ones down his jaw, he gulped down air like he'd been drowning. When he reached his neck, his kisses deepened, varying in intensity seemingly at random just to drive him crazy.

"You still take vervain?"

He’d been so hung up on the ‘guy’ part that he had almost forgotten the person murmuring against his neck was also a vampire.

"Yeah."

"Pity." Blunt human teeth dug into his throat hard enough to bruise just as Damon eased a leg between his thigh, pressing hard against his erection, earning him a sharp intake of breath and a lot of breathless swearing before Ric flipped them over, Damon now trapped between the door and his body. He ground greedily against him, pulling their hips flush against one another_. _He felt the press of Damon's erection and swallowed hard. He had been more than enjoying making out like horny teenagers, but here was the unavoidable reminder that this was pretty much where his previous sexual experience's relevance ended, and his nerves redoubled their efforts.

Damon sensed the change in atmosphere and Alaric's sudden hesitation.

"You know, I'm pretty sure that I can get you off right here against this door without either of us taking off so much as a sock." His fingers brushed at the skin under the hem of Ric's shirt. "But I look really, _really_ good naked, so it'd be a crying shame for you to waste your chance." Ric couldn't help but sputter a laugh. "And I'm willing to bet the body under those tragically boring clothes isn't half bad for a middle-aged history teacher. I'm still way out of your league, but-"

"You're just trying to distract me so I forget what I was worried about."  
"Is it working?" He ran his tongue up from the hollow of Ric's throat to his jaw in one firm pass.

His breath hitched. "Little bit."

"Enough to take this to the bedroom?"

Ric managed a nod.

Damon ducked aside and, without breaking eye contact, sauntered backwards towards his bedroom, starting to undo the buttons on his shirt with a sideways smile. As he disappeared around the corner, Alaric realised he was supposed to have been following rather than just gaping at the newly bared skin. He stumbled a little in his haste, heading towards the new frontier that awaited.

When he rounded the corner, Damon had taken off his shoes and socks, and was undoing the last couple of buttons on his shirt. Alaric was torn between raking his eyes appreciatively over Damon's torso and wishing he had chosen an equally awkward guy to have this crazy mid-life sexuality crisis with - one whose every move didn't scream seduction and whose chest didn't look like it was sculpted from marble. Damon evidently didn't have a self-conscious bone in his body, basking in Ric's undivided attention as he shrugged out of his shirt. Alaric gulped audibly as he watched Damon's hands slide down to where a dark line of hair disappeared under his waistband and start to unbuckle his belt and unzip his fly. His jeans fell to the floor revealing muscular thighs that joined that perfect torso at a pair of tight black boxer-briefs that, like everything Damon wore, looked like they cost more than anything else in Ric's apartment. They were form fitting enough that Ric's eyes couldn't help but fix on the impressive bulge at their centre. He left it there, probably thinking that full-frontal would do little to help Ric overcome his residual unease with a man in his bed. Still not tearing his gaze off of Alaric, he sat on the bed, scooting himself backwards and laying back against the pillows, draping himself like a goddamn renaissance painting (_narcissistic fucker_) and looking expectantly at Ric.

Ric raised an eyebrow. "If you're anticipating a show like that from me, you're gonna be disappointed."

Damon offered a smirk. "Show's overrated. I'm all about the after party."

Ric laughed and shrugged off his t-shirt. He knew he didn't have anything to be ashamed of; getting naked in front of someone new was always a little nerve-racking, but while he might not match Damon's carved perfection, he knew he looked pretty damn good in his own right. And besides, this wasn’t someone new, this was _Damon_. He kicked off his shoes - glad for the lack of socks (seriously, there is no way to make taking socks off sexy) - and dropped his jeans. Taking his cue from Damon, he left his boxers on and made himself look over to where his friend waited. Damon's eyes raked over him so hard his gaze alone could have left marks in its wake, brazenly appreciating his form. When his eyes had drunk their fill, they eventually settled back on his own, eyes blown black and dripping with promise. That lustful look reinvigorated his own desire, drawing him in like gravity. When he was in reach, Damon pulled him down on top of him, and the last of his uncertainty evaporated in a haze of pure want when skin met skin.

It was like he was high on the sensation of Damon's skin. Every part of him thirsted for contact and friction as he slid arms, legs, chest, hands and lips over him, desperate for _more_. Damon's hands seemed occupied with pulling him in closer even when there was no closer to get. His previous hesitancy with Damon's erection was a distant memory, and he found himself eagerly grinding against it (and when the moan that triggered from Damon was about the sexiest thing he'd ever heard, he made sure to do it a hell of a lot more). When Damon's hand slid down between them and slid under the waistband of his boxers, he sucked in a mouthful of air, quickly exhaled in a breathy curse when Damon gripped his cock firmly and began rubbing the pre-come around the tip lazily with his thumb. It was all he could manage not to fuck into his grip. He started to pump him with a strong hand that contrasted with a teasingly languid pace, handling him with an effortless confidence that his female partners had never had. Alaric's hips bucked involuntarily when he wondered if Damon touched himself with the same strong grasp and unhurried cadence. When Damon twisted his grip in a particular way, his whole body shuddered and his knees almost gave out.

Ric was absurdly turned on and frankly worried Damon's next party trick would have him coming in his pants like a teenager. He pulled back a little and Damon seemed to get the message, swiping his thumb over Ric's weeping head once more before pulling his hand back out, bringing his thumb up to his mouth to lick it clean in an obscene display that had Ric's balls tightening in response (_showy bastard_). He reached a hand tentatively down to the waistband of Damon's underwear, eager to give as good as he got, but a little insecure: This was well and truly unfamiliar territory, and he didn't want to disappoint. He dipped his hand inside, hesitantly brushing Damon's erection before loosing a nervous breath, unsure whether to begin with teasing strokes or start off more heavy-handed. He knew what _he_ liked, but would that work for someone else? He had no fucking idea what he was doing. Either sensing his impending panic or just losing patience, Damon's hand slid down and overlaid his own, their eyes meeting as he wrapped his fingers around the thick column of flesh in a firm grip, giving him a second to acclimate himself to the unfamiliar weight in his hand before sliding his fist up and back down. He was surprised to find not only was he okay with it, it actually felt pretty damn good. Once he had settled into a rhythm, Damon let his eyelids flutter closed and retracted his hand, bringing it and his other up next to his face on the pillow in an apparent gesture of submission.

Over the next minutes, Ric watched Damon's reactions play out on his face with utter fascination as he experimented with different grips, angles, techniques. Seeing him fist his hands in the pillowcase and bite his lip, and feeling him panting and writhing underneath him was intoxicating in its own right. While he was sure at least some of it was exaggerated for his benefit (he definitely wasn't complaining - if the Salvatore fortune ever ran out, Damon evidently had a promising career in porn waiting for him), he could have spent hours just watching Damon come apart slowly under his touch. Or having Damon take _him_ apart piece by piece until he couldn't remember his own name. He had just realised he had been subconsciously rubbing himself against Damon's thigh like a cat in heat when Damon flipped them over with unnerving ease, his mouth running the length of his throat in those amazing bruising kisses while his hands reached for the nightstand.

He hadn't noticed it before, but apparently, bourbon wasn't _all_ Damon had picked up at the store: The plastic bottle on his nightstand definitely wasn’t there before. Truth be told, Alaric hadn't been thinking much beyond the moment. He wasn't sure exactly what he had wanted to happen. Considering an hour or so ago he was adamantly straight, he wasn't sure if full sex would be taking things too far, but on the other hand, if he had already come this far, he may as well throw the whole damn rulebook out of the window. He was lost in images of what Damon might look like impaled on his cock when-

“What the fuck?!“ The slick finger delving under his scrotum had him yelping and jumping back like he’d been burned.

“What?”

“What do you think you’re doing?” He sputtered.

“You didn’t think I was gonna let you top your first time outta the gate, did you?”

“Well… Yeah, kinda.”

Damon rolled his eyes and leaned back, resting on his knees.

“Well that’s not gonna happen.”

“Well neither’s me….” He still couldn’t say it out loud.

“Bottoming?” He said matter-of-factly (apparently Damon didn’t share his reluctance). “Oh please, cut the toxic alpha male crap. You’re gonna love it. Bet you’re a real pillow princess.”

“I am not a… What’s that supposed to mean? And if it’s so good then how come you won’t do it, huh?” Ric contested.

“Never said I don’t. Just not with over-stimulated first timers who’ll barely manage 20 seconds of jackhammer before they nut.”

“Hey!”

“No offence.”

“How the hell am I meant to take that not-offensively?!”

Damon huffed in frustration. “How about another bet?”

“There is _nothing_ you can offer me that-”

“Oh, so now you _don’t_ want to fuck me?”

That gave him pause.

“I’m listening.”

“Let me show you how it’s done. If you last – and if you hate it as much as you think you’re gonna, that shouldn’t be a problem – then I’ll let you fuck me.”

Alaric looked sceptical.

“Not worth it.” Damon raised an eyebrow in a gesture that seemed to say ‘_You sure about that_?’ “The only reason things even got this far is because I’m _super_ drunk.”

“You’ve been sober as a judge since that kiss in the bar and you know it.” He had him there. He leaned in so close Ric thought he might be going in for a repeat performance of said kiss, but he stopped short, close enough that Ric had to wedge his hands under his thighs so he didn’t give into temptation and pull him in. “I’m a cocky son of a bitch, but you know me well enough to tell when I’m bluffing and when I’ve got the goods to back it up, so trust me when I say that I’m the best you’ve ever had. Tighter than a virgin on prom night, but with all the benefits of a century and a half of experience. You can do _whatever you want _to me, and I won’t break. I’ll moan like a porn star, squeeze like a vise, my hips will do things that’ll have you speaking in tongues, and you’d have to pay by the _minute_ for dirty talk this good.” Damon leaned back, and it was an exercise in self-restraint for Ric not to chase his body with his own. “Or we could call it a night here. Your call.”

Ric licked his lips. His heart beat at least a dozen times before he could bring himself to answer.

“I am so going to regret this.” He breathed out, surging forward to grab Damon in another searing kiss.

The wind had gone out of his sails completely the second he felt Damon’s finger where it wasn’t welcome, but his interest had definitely rallied at the vivid picture Damon had painted with his words (and the thought of the sweet revenge of the smug bastard spread out under him later didn’t hurt either).

Damon took his time reasserting Ric’s desire, making out and grinding on him until he was hard and leaking in his underwear. Satisfied he was back on board, so to speak, Damon’s thumbs hooked under the waistband of his underwear and tugged. Ric got the message and canted his hips up so Damon could pull them off, and it was a sweet relief when his burning hot erection was exposed to cool air and Damon’s equally cool skin. His moan into Damon’s mouth turned into a whine when Damon pulled back, catching his lips between his teeth again in that way that was just the right side of rough. Ric couldn’t find it in him to protest, though, when Damon made his destination clear, kissing his way down his chest. He was startled half to death, body involuntarily jerking and barely intelligible profanity spewing from him when, instead of building him up with teasing touches and brushes of his lips as he expected, Damon took him down to the root in one movement and swallowed around him. Apparently no need to breathe went hand in hand with no gag reflex. He moaned and Ric felt the vibration of it enveloping him completely, and he almost shot through the roof. When Damon drew back and started to build a rhythm, Ric’s hand reflexively dived into the mop of inky black tresses, twisting and pressing down. He realised his poor etiquette a split second later and lightened up, pulling his hand back, but before he could get far, Damon’s own hand came down on top of his and put the pressure back on, forcing his head down as Ric instinctively thrust up into his tight, wet throat, building a punishing rhythm that would have had a human choking and retching on the floor. Ric heard his words earlier echoing in his head (“_I won’t break”_) and _fuck_ if it wasn’t even sexier in practice. It was a struggle not to spill himself immediately into that eager, talented mouth; he soon had to pull his hand back from Damon’s hair to dig his nails into his own palms just to hold back, but that only gave Damon more space to work, and he made the most of it, tongue swirling and cheeks hollowed.

Ric was feeling pretty malleable, and didn’t fight it when Damon pulled him down the bed, bending his knees and propping up his legs before continuing his ministrations, albeit slowing a little. When he felt a slick finger press up against his entrance this time, he sucked in a breath, but let it happen. Damon teased gently without breaching him for a few moments as he let the lube warm against his body, and the next time he took Ric deeper down his throat, he pressed firmly into him at the same time, letting one sensation dull the shock of the other. It wasn’t as unpleasant as Ric was expecting; there was a slight burn on entry as unstretched muscles were teased open for the first time, but there was more than enough going on with Damon’s sinful mouth to keep his mind off it. He worked one finger for a short while, the burn soon giving way to… something else. It started to feel good. Soon, it didn’t feel like _enough_. Damon added a second finger and the burn returned, but alongside it was a feeling of… reprieve? It was completely unfamiliar, and slightly overwhelming. Damon’s mouth slid off him with a wet pop.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just…” He swallowed when Damon’s fingers twisted inside him. Weird_. But good. Weirdgood_, his brain helpfully supplied. “Yeah-ah-AH!” Damon’s fingers pressed against something inside him and it was like the pleasurable equivalent of sticking his fingers in an electrical socket. “HOLY SHIT WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” He looked down at Damon, who looked like he was suppressing a laugh. “Do it again.” He ordered.

“Funny, I could have sworn you were far too naked to be wearing bossy boots.” He brushed that spot again, but with a touch so featherlight it was barely a tease, and it still sent a shudder all through him.

“Don’t fuck around! I’m seriou-AARGH-_fuuuuuuuuuuck._” Ric ground down on pure instinct and his vision almost whited out.

“What, this?” Damon feigned nonchalance.

_I’m gonna kill him._

_As soon as he’s done that like a hundred more times_.

He eased back off of what basic anatomy knowledge told him was his prostate (but what his fevered brain would now forever know as the Brain Melt Button™), going back to a languid, twisting tease that had Ric now inconceivably grinding down onto Damon’s fingers. The next time he did it, he timed it with a languid lap of his tongue against the head of Ric’s cock, and an actual tear sprang to the corner of his eye.

“Damon, please. God, _please_.” He didn’t even know what he was begging for.

“You gotta take one more.” He felt the tip of a third finger press at his hole. “Just one more, okay?”

He already felt pretty full, and thought one more finger might kill him, but he nodded. Whatever it took, just to get more of the pleasure Damon was drawing from him. The third finger felt _tight_, almost too much, but he took it with a stuttered exhale. After a couple of strokes inside, Damon rewarded him with another curl against his prostate, and that was enough to move the sensation from uncomfortable to very, very pleasurable. He felt impossibly full, but surprisingly good. He was definitely starting to think Damon was right and… receiving… wasn’t so bad after all.

Damon kept stretching and teasing his fingers until he was satisfied Ric was ready, by which point Ric’s cock was purple and weeping against his stomach. It should have been humiliating, but it was strangely sensual. Ric let out a vaguely humiliating whimper when he felt Damon’s fingers withdraw, and almost berated him for stopping until he realised he was hooking his thumbs under his own waistband, and the disappointment was replaced with a wave of anticipation… Which quickly turned to apprehension when the black boxer briefs were discarded. Damon looked good naked – that was very much not the issue; he was more like a work of art than a person, and Ric was pretty sure that anyone of any sexual orientation looking at a naked and hard Damon would be hard pressed not to feel some form of arousal themselves (especially when he wrapped a lubricated hand around his own cock to slick it up… even if tonight was later chalked up to a mid-life crisis moment or some kind of temporary insanity, Ric was pretty sure that particular image was going to be a secretly recurring feature of his fantasy life in future). That was approximately the moment that Ric realised Damon’s 3 slender fingers were _much_ smaller than the erection that sprang free from his underwear. Damon seemed to register his concern.

“Everything okay?” His voice was breathy and deep that sure as hell _did things_ for Ric.

“I think so.” He swallowed thickly. “I’m wearing my ring, so what’s the worst that can happen, right?” He meant it as a joke, but his nerves were audible.

“Ric, if you really don’t want to or you need more prep-”

“No.” He cut him off. “No I want to, just… You’re gonna mock me if I ask you to go slow, aren’t you?”

“Only for a decade, maybe two.” He smiled and Ric barked a laugh. Their eyes met and Ric was relieved to see their familiar antagonistic warmth was still there (and he didn’t hate the filter of lust he saw it through either). “Dealer’s choice, but it can be easier on your front the first time.”

Alaric really didn’t want to turn over; it felt too submissive, and he didn’t like the idea of not being able to see what was going on (not just as an anxiety thing, the visuals were so far one of the best parts of the evening). He shook his head.

Damon pressed up against him, lining himself up, and Ric breathed out hard, staring at the ceiling to try to stop himself tensing. He felt Damon’s fist close around his shaft and let his eyes fall closed, grateful to have something else to focus on. After a couple of pumps of those strong, dextrous fingers, he’d almost forgotten he had anything to be nervous about, and he drew in a surprised breath as he felt Damon’s cock breach his entrance. It was just the tip, but the stretch was so much more. As Damon pressed in further, achingly slowly, he folded his arms up over his face to cover his eyes and smother the sound – somewhere between pleasure and discomfort – that he couldn’t stop coming out of his mouth if he’d tried. He suddenly very much understood Damon’s reluctance to let him top first. This wasn’t like sleeping with a woman where you could just bury yourself to the hilt in one stroke: He couldn’t imagine how suffocatingly tight he must feel around him, and the self-discipline needed to not just sink forwards into the inviting flesh must be ironclad. For his part, the whole sensation was so alien, the pressure feeling at once blissful and uncomfortable. Damon paused frequently to give him time to adjust, which was both definitely necessary but also really frustrating – he was breathing hard and his body didn’t know whether to fight the invasion or just rip off the band aid and get to the good part. He dared a look down under his folded arms, and almost gave in and cried ‘uncle’ there when he realised Damon wasn’t all the way in yet.

“You’re doing good.” Damon’s voice was breathy and unsteady with restraint, but his tone was reassuring.

“Fuck you.” Alaric choked out. He hated how strained his voice sounded.

“Later if you’re lucky.”

Ric laughed and immediately regretted it as he realised it clenched muscles he desperately needed as un-clenched as possible right now.

“I hate you so much right now.”

Damon’s response was to pull back and change his angle slightly before slowly pressing back in, a fraction deeper than before, but dragging a considerable amount of his length against his prostate on re-entry. Ric’s whole body convulsed and a string of colourful language tripped off his tongue.

“You sure about that?”

Ric wasn’t able to really put enough words together to respond, but it was more than sufficient incentive that he definitely didn’t want to tap out anymore. In fact, the deeper Damon sank into him, the better that odd pressure started to feel. When he felt Damon’s hips flush against his for the first time as he bottomed out, they let out a communal sigh of relief. Ric felt stretched wider than he would have thought his body could go without breaking, and he could actually _feel_ Damon’s sluggish heartbeat inside him (slower than any human’s, but surprisingly strong). They were both panting and covered in a thin sheen of sweat – not from exertion, but from strain, Damon’s restraint and Alaric’s tolerance both at their limits. It was a feeling something like being at the top of a rollercoaster facing down the drop. And _holy shit _when Damon started to move… On the first thrust, Ric actually sank his teeth into his own arm to muffle the sound he made. Damon drew back so far Ric was sure he would slip out of him, but somehow he didn’t; and Ric had never been so grateful for vampire strength – he lifted Ric’s hips with no discernible effort, drawing his body down to meet his hips and grinding into him hard. His indolent pace was still something akin to slow-pouring treacle, and aside from the cadence, it bore little resemblance to straight sex, but there weren’t words for how good it felt. The way Damon’s hips moved should have been illegal – sinuous and powerful, the undulation of them seemed to draw Ric’s eyes like a magnet, and watching his muscled torso ripple as his hips snapped languorously into him was one of the sexiest things Alaric had ever seen.

The speed quickly transitioned from blissful to torturous, but every time Alaric tried to encourage Damon to speed up, Damon made it clear he wouldn’t be rushed. 

“Jesus Christ Damon, will you pick up the pace?”

“You were the one who wanted to go slow.”

_I knew he wasn’t gonna let that one slide_, Ric lamented to himself.

“Slow, not stationary. C’mon.”

“Say ‘please’.” He timed it with a particularly hard grind into him.

“Fuck you.” Ric spat.

Damon made it clear he had no intention of changing pace, so Ric decided to take matters into his own hands (in a literal sense), sliding his hand down his chest to wrap around his hard, leaking, neglected cock… Only to have it slapped away by Damon. That was the final straw, and he was ready to scream blue murder at his new vampire-with-benefits, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was a desperate, keening moan that echoed through every cell in his body as Damon’s next thrust was aimed right for his sweet spot. He’d thought his fingers had felt good, but nothing could have prepared him for the blissful root-to-tip drag of Damon’s cock against it. His back arched involuntarily and his fingers grasped helplessly at the bedsheets as his cock twitched, desperately seeking friction in the empty air.

“Still hate me?”

_Not if you’re planning on doing that again_.

“Jury’s out.” Ric breathed.

He did it again. And again. By the fifth time, Alaric was reaching for his cock again, but with a very different intention – squeezing himself tightly at the base to keep from coming. Damon got the hint and changed things up, only hitting his prostate every five or six thrusts instead of repeatedly.

The pace was still driving him crazy, but in a _very _good way, and after a few minutes, Ric was actually shaking with pleasure and breathing hard, keening every time Damon hit that magical angle. Damon bent Ric’s legs a little more and the next time he thrust back in, fireworks exploded behind Ric’s eyes, and a strangled noise he barely recognised came out of his throat. He was hazy on the etiquette, but was pretty sure letting your partner know when you were about to come was always good form.

“I th-think I’m about to l-lose this b-bet.” He stammered out.

“I can stop if you’d prefer.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

Damon huffed a laugh, followed by a small, low breath out. Ric was pretty lost in his own pleasure, but he noticed the breath and cast a glance to Damon’s face, which was scrunched up. He was clearly on the edge himself. Damon’s eyes flickered open and met Ric’s, and maintaining eye contact, Damon’s hand loosed its grip on Alaric’s thigh and slid up to grip his cock. A couple of firm strokes and firmer thrusts, and Alaric thought he would need the Gilbert ring to bring him back from this as it felt like white-hot ecstasy was being ripped in sharp waves from every recess of his body. He came with a hoarse cry, thick ropes of his release spurting all over his stomach and Damon’s hand, and his internal muscles constricting around Damon. There was a breathy string of half-formed swear words mixed with what might have been Alaric’s name as Damon’s hips stuttered and he buried himself deep in a rush of wet, warmth (that probably should have felt gross, but was strangely satisfying) and Damon’s climax chased his own.


	3. Second Chance at a First Impression

"You knew there was no chance in hell of me lasting out, didn't you?" His voice sounded wrecked, even to his own ears.

"Not exactly." Ric made a relatively pitiful whining sound when Damon withdrew from him. He felt a recognisable wetness forming a sticky trail down his thigh (_eurgh_ \- he suddenly felt apologetic for all those times he'd done the same to Isobel), which was quickly forgotten when he stretched out his legs and felt the deep ache Damon had left in his wake. He would be sitting down gingerly for a few days, and his face reddened when he realised every time he did would be accompanied by a vivid reminder of the reason. Damon seemed unperturbed and waltzed into the en-suite as he continued speaking. "There was also a chance you were drunk enough for performance issues, but in that case you wouldn't have been able to get it up to claim your prize." He heard the water start to run - Damon cleaning himself off, no doubt. "Either way, score one for team me."

"You're such an asshole." Ric groaned out.

He swanned back in a couple of seconds later with a damp washcloth in his hand, unashamed in his nakedness in a way that most people could live a hundred years and never aspire to, and handed it to Ric to clean himself off with.

"Yeah, but I'm a _chivalrous_ asshole."

"Hate to break it to you, buddy, but handing me a washcloth after using-"

"_Thoroughly_ using." Damon interrupted as he threw himself down on the bed next to Ric.

Ric rolled his eyes.

"Fine. _Thoroughly_ using my body as a sock puppet does not count as chivalry."

"Maybe not. But this does."

He bit into his wrist and offered it to Ric.

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm not _that_ sore." Well, he kind of was, but he didn't want Damon to get the ego boost from knowing that. Damon's responding smile was enigmatic.

"You know, the healing properties of vampire blood are really kind of fascinating." Ric propped himself up on his elbows, wondering where the hell he was going with this. Damon was basically monologuing at the ceiling. "It can knit together wounds, relieve aches and pains, and even ease tension in overstimulated muscles." He turned and looked pointedly at Ric. "Say, you wouldn't know of any reason a guy in his mid-thirties, with what I'm assuming is a pretty pathetic natural refractory period, could use something like that, would you?" The glint in his eyes was pure mischief, and it took Ric a couple of seconds for his brain (which Damon had so expertly reduced to pudding) to catch up. It must have been plain to read on his face when he did though. "Fair warning: I have a habit of topping from the bottom. But you can probably handle me."

"You're serious." It wasn't quite a question so much as a statement conveying his disbelief.

"You keep asking me that." Damon rolled his eyes.

"That's because I never know if you're honestly into the idea or just bored and trying to screw with my head."

"Little from column A, little from column B." He shrugged. "So, we doing this?"

Ric didn't need to be asked twice.

"My first time drivin' stick. You might have to teach me a few things."

The cheshire cat grin that flashed across Damon's face was equal parts sexy and unnerving.

  
Damon was straddling him before he could blink, pulling him to sit upright (albeit with a pronounced wince) for more of those searing kisses that had threatened to burn him earlier, but now that the tentative 'will-he-won't-he?' part had been resolved (yes, he will - enthusiastically), there was an edge to them that hadn't been present before. Alaric had been nervous, unsure, and inexperienced, and that had set the tone somewhat; by contrast, Damon was none of those things, and by the near-violence of his tongue, teeth, and the vicious squeeze of his thighs, he liked it a little rougher. Ric tested the theory by giving an experimental tug to Damon's hair and pressing teeth to his throat and was rewarded with a guttural moan that he felt tingle down his spine.  
_Oh yeah, rougher is definitely going to be a thing_. Which Ric didn't mind one bit. In fact, he was starting to think he wouldn't need the assistance of Damon's blood to get hard again after all.  
  
As if reading his mind and disagreeing, Damon reached into Ric's bedside drawer and pulled out the hunting knife stashed there for emergencies (to his credit, Ric’s eyes only flashed with panic for the barest millisecond before he kicked his fight or flight response to the kerb), pressing the tip lightly into his own neck. He kept his blades sharp, and the nick was more than enough to draw blood. Knowing how quickly the wound would close, Ric fought off his hesitation and pressed his mouth to it, sucking hard to keep the blood flowing as best he could. At first, he wanted to grimace at the acrid, coppery taste, but Damon's hand crept into his hair, pressing him harder against his neck, so he forced himself to keep drinking. It wasn't more than a second or two before he started to feel its effects, the throb in his ass fading to a dull ache and then disappearing altogether, and a deafening pulse (he wasn't sure if it belonged to him or Damon) roaring in his ears before shooting south at terminal velocity. The blood started to taste good, and then delicious - thick and luxurious like syrup - and he moaned, a wet and full sound against Damon's throat as he sucked down more of the sweet nectar that had his skin tingling and his cock hard as diamonds.  
"Did I mention" Damon's voice sounded breathy and light-headed enough that Ric wondered if he might be taking too much "that, in the right setting, vampire blood can be a very powerful aphrodisiac?"  
He knew damn well he hadn't mentioned it. Ric had always chalked that little rumour up to swooning amateurs who read too much Anne Rice, and he'd drunk vampire blood before without feeling this particular side effect, but then he'd never drunk it in this particular context (that context being in a room drenched in the smell of sex with a devastatingly sexy vampire rubbing up against him like a cat in heat). And _damn_. The roaring in his veins and blooming heat surging under his skin... he'd never felt anything like it.  
  
The wound was already closing under this tongue, and reluctantly Alaric pulled back, lips stained red. Damon licked them clean in a way that was nothing short of obscene, and Alaric almost lost it, grunting in frustration when Damon pushed him back hard so he fell against the mattress. When he tried to sit back up, he was pushed back down with irritating ease. He opened his mouth to protest, but whatever was on the top of his tongue went out the window when Damon grabbed the discarded bottle laying on the bed, drizzling his fingers in slick and rubbing them together. Ric's erection twitched at the memory of what those fingers felt like inside him, but that wasn't the plan.  
"Thought the whole point of this was to switch things up?"  
"Who said it wasn't?" That 'I'm up to something' look on his face dared Ric to question him further, so he didn't. Instead he watched as Damon spread the slick over his fingers with his thumb before reaching behind him, arching his back...  
Ric watched in rapt fascination as Damon's eyes fell closed in pleasure and his mouth dropped open as he pressed those two fingers inside him right to the hilt.  
"Jesus fucking Christ Damon."  
His hips canted upwards involuntarily, but Damon's thighs were as immovable as steel girders. Damon bore down on his fingers, and the movement was just enough to brush his crotch against Ric's, the barest hint of friction where he was desperate for so, so much more. He even reached a hand out to try and touch - himself, Damon, fucking _anything_, only to find his wrist in an iron grip. Damon brought it to his mouth, took his thumb in, and sucked hard, eliciting a pained sound. Alaric had learned a lot tonight, but chief among that knowledge was that Damon was the world's biggest fucking cocktease.

Damon was a sight to behold as he worked himself open, with a distinct lack of the patience he’d shown when doing the same to Ric: Back bent, defined panes of his chest stretched forward, face flushed and impaling himself on his own fingers as his cock jerked, straining and leaking against empty air. Every now and then when he pressed back on himself, his knuckles brushed Alaric's scrotum, and he would feel himself tighten in response. Alaric was breathless with desire just watching him, and knowing he was prepping himself to take his cock was enough to make him dizzy. When Damon allowed himself a brush against his prostate, his whole body would shiver, and Ric couldn't _wait_ to be the one doing that to him. Wanted to be the cause of those shudders and soft exhales.

After what was probably the longest few minutes of Alaric’s life – the unique mix of vividly erotic visual and flesh-gnawing frustration at not being allowed to contribute somehow elongating the passage of time – Damon impatiently grabbed Ric’s hand and brought it to his lubed hole, guiding one of his fingers inside along with two of his own. He was impossibly tight - Ric didn’t dare to imagine what that pressure would feel like around his cock – but Damon didn’t slow or give him time to explore his body, instead curving his fingers slightly around Ric’s, steering him where he wanted him. The pad of his finger brushed an area with a slightly different texture inside of Damon and he felt his legs quake, tightening around the intrusion.

“Right there.” Damon breathed out. “Don’t hit it every time or it’s too much.” He illustrated his point by working those fingers in and out of him a couple of times, pointedly avoiding that bundle of nerves, before stroking Ric’s fingers and his own against it again on the third pass. This time Ric watched the pleasure bloom on his face, almost panting with want himself at the memory of what it felt like. “Don’t hit it enough and vervain or not, I’ll drink you dry. Got it?” His mouth was so dry with anticipation (and more than a hint of nerves – he didn’t doubt Damon would make good on his threat), he wasn’t sure he could manage words, so he just nodded, swallowing thickly. “Okay. Vamp physiology has its perks, but this ain’t one of ‘em.” His voice was still breathy and Ric had to force himself to focus on what he was saying rather than how he was saying it. “One of us needs to hold me open while you get lubed up. Dealer’s choice.”

It hadn’t occurred to Alaric that vampire healing would play into this, and suddenly the near-suffocating tightness of Damon’s body made perfect sense. He tried to think of anything except the fact that meant Damon would be eternally virgin-tight as wordlessly (and with no small amount of reluctance), he slipped his finger out of Damon only to have it swiftly replaced by another of Damon’s own. He really, _really_ wanted to have Damon’s clever, dextrous fingers wrapped around him again, but they were a little _too_ clever, _too _dextrous: It wasn’t worth the risk of things ending prematurely. Ric slicked himself up and tried to control his excitement enough not to fuck up into his own grip; his knuckles brushed Damon’s own erection as he moved, causing his thighs to tighten around Ric’s own hard enough to bruise. He expected Damon to plunge down onto his waiting erection there and then (and he just knew he would look fucking incredible riding him like that), but instead Damon climbed off him and knelt on the mattress, leaning his weight on one arm – fingers still scissoring inside himself as he bent himself over, back arched and waiting. He shot an impatient look over his shoulder that had Alaric scrambling to his knees behind him (whether out of intimidation or enthusiasm, he couldn’t say). Ric was conscious that he didn’t really have time to psych himself up or savour anything as Damon withdrew his fingers with a sigh, so the most he allowed himself was a sharp exhale (the kind of breathing equivalent of ‘I’m really doing this’) as he lined himself up with Damon’s slick entrance.

When the head of his cock made the first tentative press past that ring of muscle, it forced the air out of Ric’s lungs. He knew it would be tight, but he wasn’t prepared for just _how_ tight: The pressure was overwhelming. But as he pressed a little further, the sensation changed – something like suction, slick and welcoming and intense - and all conscious thought and self-control escaped him as he was pulled in, the rush of sensation as he bottomed out in one stroke escaping his lips in a stream of profanity. He felt Damon clench around him, but it was a jagged motion, and Ric realised too late that he had gone way too fast – Damon had entered him so slowly and carefully, and it had still felt like he was being split in two. Yet while Damon’s reflexive clench had alerted him to his mistake, his desperation not to embarrass himself by coming there and then took priority over his guilt – that would be truly irredeemable.

“Shit…S-sorry.” _Don’tcomedon’tcomedon’tcome _“Please don’t kill me. Or m-move, like at all.” He could feel Damon’s body actually closing in around him, and his knees almost buckled at the intense pressure. “Oh, _fuck_ Damon.”

“If you’re always this much of a pussy in bed, no wonder Isobel shopped around.”

Ric was well used to Damon’s jibes about Isobel by now – his words were pure provocation, but this wasn’t the same as when he did it at the grill or out hunting. Something in his voice was different… affected. Lustful. “She was wrecked when I was done with her, y’know. Not sure if she screamed more when I bit her or when I fucked her.”

He was still trying to concentrate on keeping his shit together.

“Shut up.”

“Probably when I did both at once.” Damon continued

“Shut up!”

“Make me.” Damon looked back over his shoulder, eyes sparkling in challenge, and rolled down onto his elbows in a manoeuvre that was almost cat-like, pressing back against Ric and rotating his hips in a way that had Ric instinctively grabbing his hips. “I can fuck myself to orgasm on you with or without your participation. Your call.”

A part of Ric really, _really _wanted to see that, but his pride won out (and yeah, maybe Damon’s taunting had done something to subdue his lust) – he wanted to give as good as he got, and he’d got it pretty damn good. Biting the inside of his cheek, he gave in to instinct and finally let his hips move.

It took a few slower, experimental thrusts to get himself used to just how much force was needed just to combat Damon’s body trying to close up (and to find out that, while vampire blood was definitely an aphrodisiac and had done something to heighten his sensitivity, it thankfully also seemed to increase his tolerance and endurance). He definitely wasn’t complaining though, and neither was Damon. Once he got found his rhythm, he experimented a little with changing the angle until he felt Damon’s body seize and stutter, and the filthiest caught moan tumbled from his lips as his fingers twisted in the bedsheets. Ric ground against that spot (partly because he needed a second to recover from what Damon’s reaction did to him, and partly because he wanted it to go on forever) and was rewarded by a needy half-whimper, half-growl that might have been his name. Turns out Damon had been right about the porn star-esque noises – his priorities in life shifted in that moment to doing anything and everything he could just to make him do that again – but he reigned himself in, heeding Damon’s warning to space out the stimulation to keep things interesting.

Apparently Damon’s inability to do what he was told carried over to sex, and like most things in their increasingly weird friendship, it was combative, hostile… and _really _fucking hot. Damon kept trying to change the angle or the pace, only relenting when Ric grabbed his hips hard enough to momentarily bruise even Damon’s inhuman skin (Damon could snap him like a twig, and he was only giving him the illusion of relenting). At one point, Damon arched his back to try and get more stimulation where he so badly wanted it, and Ric grabbed his hair on impulse, twisting his fingers in it and pressing his head back down. The desperate whine that came out of him in response hit buttons Ric never knew he had, and when Damon’s knees slid back, squeezing impossibly tighter around Ric’s body, he almost came right there.

Ric knew it had to be seriously bad etiquette for him to be the one to come first in this scenario, so he slid one hand under Damon and wrapped it around his heavy, dripping cock (_since when is that a turn on?_), stroking in time with the rhythm set by his hips. In response, Damon clenched around him so hard it was just short of painful (and apparently ‘just short of painful’ was his new ‘perfect’). It felt like Damon was caught between whether to fuck up into his hand or back against his cock, and the intensity of the want between the two of them was overwhelming. Ric buckled forwards, falling against Damon’s back as his hand braced him against the mattress. Damon’s back against his chest as he writhed was something he hadn’t realised he’d missed, but feeling it now eased an ache he hadn’t known was there. On impulse, he sank his teeth into Damon’s neck as he hit that magical spot inside him and was rewarded with a full body shudder that said he was hovering on the edge.

“You’d better be as close as I think you are.” Damon stuttered out.

“Closer.” He breathed against Damon’s neck.

It was far, far too late for a position change, but Ric felt a pang of regret he couldn’t see Damon’s face. There was one other thing he was regretting too, and it was something he wouldn’t in a million years have thought he would have wanted. In fact if someone had told him back at the grill he would ask for this before the night was out, he’d have shot them on sight. But then, a lot of his assumptions about himself had been proved spectacularly wrong tonight. Carefully, he shifted his weight onto his elbow, sliding his forearm up under Damon’s arm so that his wrist was in front of Damon’s mouth.

“Bite me.”

Even his voice barely sounded like his own.

“Can’t. Vervain.” Damon ground out.

From what he could see of Damon’s face. Ric could see the restraint as his veins thickened and vines of black crawled under his eyes.

“I lied. M’not on vervain. I just wear it. God Damon,_ please_.”

He was hanging on by a goddamn thread while Damon weighed the evidence, and apparently decided that it was unlikely Ric would be bullshitting him at the risk of his own pleasure, and he watched enrapt as Damon’s eyes darkened and his fangs descended (again, way hotter than it had any right to be).

The sharp pinch of pain at his wrist melted into intense, white-hot pleasure as the twin sensations of his blood rushing into Damon’s mouth and burying himself inside him in one final harsh stroke merged, and he muffled his cry of _pleasure/pain/all of the above_ into Damon’s back. He’d never come so hard in his life. Damon’s own sound of release was stifled by the mouthful of Ric’s blood, but he felt it resonate against his wrist as Damon’s hips jerked and he felt him spurt over his hand.

Alaric felt wrecked and boneless. Damon could have sucked him dry right there and he wouldn’t have given a damn. If it wasn’t for Damon’s cursed vampiric physiology forcing him to withdraw before he’d even got the feeling back in his goddamn legs, he would have stayed collapsed on top of him until he was moved by force. Damon had bitten his tongue and was laving lazily over the marks on his wrist, his blood closing the wounds made by his teeth. Alaric pulled his arm back and went to the bathroom, cleaning himself and getting a washcloth for Damon as he’d done for him.

“So is this the part where you have some hetero crisis and kick me out?”

Damon sounded as lazy and sated as Ric felt. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought about what happened next, but his answer was reflexive.

“You’re sleeping in the wet patch if you stay.”


	4. Who Needs Labels?

Neither of them slept in the wet patch. Ric woke in the middle of the night to Damon plastered to his side. In the morning, he wasn’t sure if he was surprised or not to find him gone. He was _definitely_ surprised, though, to find him shirtless and making pancakes in the kitchen.

“Did you know you had literally nothing edible in your fridge? I had to compel the ingredients for this out of one of your neighbours.”

“Damon, what-” Damon ignored him and carried on regardless

“She got to see me in my underwear though, so I think it was a fair trade.”

“What’re you still doing here?”

“Figured it was better to get the ‘weird’ out of the way in private. Clear the air. Didn’t want you having a stroke or something next time I made a comment the wrong side of flirty in front of Elena or Jeremy.”

He couldn’t fault the logic, but dealing with Damon before coffee (even if the vampire blood had prevented what was due to be a spectacular hangover) was still more than he could handle.

“Consider the air cleared. Get gone.”

“I make really good pancakes.”

“I knew this was a bad idea.”

“There’s no such thing as a bad idea, only poorly executed excellent ones. And I’d like to see you make a credible argument that last night was anything other than _flawlessly_ executed.”

He had him there. Damon set the plate down in front of him - a perfectly formed stack of pancakes topped with an infuriating vampire smiley face made of cream and blueberries - along with a steaming mug of coffee (the coffee clinched it).

“Fine. I’m listening.” He tucked in (Damon was right – they were pretty damn good).

“Just wanted to clarify how you want to play this. Are we pretending it never happened, acknowledging it did and it was pretty fucking good, or what?” He stuck a fork into Ric’s plate of food and stole a bite of his pancakes, which for anyone else might seem like an intimate thing to do, but Damon had never_ not_ stolen fries from his plate, so he wasn’t sure whether to take it as an intimacy thing or just a Damon thing. “Also to check you weren’t going into a sexuality crisis meltdown.”

Truth be told, last night hadn’t prompted him into much thought about the broader questioning of his sexuality. In fact, he was pretty sure he could boil it down from ‘bi-curious’ to straightforward (_ha_) ‘Damon-curious’. What he wasn’t so sure of was whether that curiosity was satiated.

“No meltdown. And I’m not in denial.” He hesitated for a second and Damon clearly picked up on it, quirking an eyebrow in question. He was silent as he waited for Ric to continue, and he realised he wasn’t getting out of that one. “Hypothetically speaking, what might ‘or what’ be?”

“What do you want it to be?”

Only Damon could pack so much subtext into 7 words. Somehow it was a challenge, a flirtation, an invitation, and a question all in one.

_More._ “I wish I knew.”

Damon seemed to recognise that he wasn’t going to get a sensible answer out of Ric, at least not until he’d had time to process, so he grabbed his shirt from where he’d slung it on the barstool and shrugged into it. He pulled Ric in for a kiss that somehow tasted of syrup and the best night of his life. When he spoke, Ric felt his breath on his lips.

“Let me know if you figure it out. If not, see you around.”

He was still doing up the buttons as the front door clicked shut.

When Damon slid into the seat next to him at the grill a couple of nights later, no-one would have suspected anything had changed in the dynamic between them, but Ric noticed the difference in the way Damon met his eye.

“Bourbon, neat. Make it a double. He’s buying.”

They bantered back and forth like any other night. The only difference being when Ric had pulled Damon against him by his belt loops after closing, and they’d barely made it back to the apartment before jerking each other off like teenagers. A few nights after that, there was still no label on what they were doing when Damon had grabbed the bottle from locker 42 and brought it down to where Ric was sat up late grading papers, and Ric had bent him over his desk. Or when Damon had given him his first rim job that had him rutting feverishly into his mattress before fucking him senseless. Or even when they’d visited a bar out of town and taken a girl home (well, back to a motel) together.

It was definitely _something_: Friends with benefits didn’t seem to fit the bill seeing as they were more like frenemies to begin with. It was more than casual sex – Damon was practically monogamous and Ric was even letting him feed on him regularly. It definitely wasn’t friendship anymore. Whatever it was, there was definitely one thing it wasn’t, and that was a bad idea.


End file.
